A Matter of Truth
by Green2
Summary: Ron&Draco SLASH: Draco does what he thinks is right, Ron doesn't want to give up 'What Matters' Series part 3 of 3 added as third chapter
1. A Matter of Trust

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A Matter of Trust

By Green

Pairing: Ron/Draco

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Rating: R 

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Series/Sequel: One of two, sequel coming soon

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Feedback: green99bottles@aol.com 

gets down on knees and builds little altar to readers who provide feedback for they are god 

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Disclaimer: Some may say I have insulted a fine publication, destroyed it's magic and grossly insulted all associated with it. Well I'd like to apologise to the writers of 'WankWitch' (if, indeed it exists) and state that I do not own it or mean to upset anyone……oh yeah, and the books about the wizard kids, I don't own them either

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Notes: I said I'd be back with more…

This fic is written in 'now' and in flashbacks, the two time periods are separated by ~~~~~~~~~~~~~, which anyone who has read my other fic will know is possibly my favourite computer key * g *

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'Ron, just trust me'

'Dream on, Draco'

I can feel his gentle hands guiding me, the light touch of his fingers on my elbows. Despite my words I keep my eyes closed, because I want to trust him, I want not even to question that I do.

'How much longer, Draco?'

'Wait' His tone is teasing, I can hear the smile on his face as surely as if I saw it, or could trace it with my tongue or fingertips. I wish I could, right now. The skin near his mouth is so soft, even though he frowns such a lot. I know which of the muscles he uses to smile, because sometimes when he does I've just looked and looked. Not sneering or his smug grin, not the expression he has when he gets a good grade or scores in Quidditch. My smile, for me.

My feet stumble slightly as the ground becomes uneven. We must be in the cellars of Hogwarts now; we've been down enough stairs. As soon as I falter he grips on tighter and guides me on, slowly but surely. A gentle warmth conveys itself from his body to mine in our close proximity, and I can hear his breathing, the warm brush of air near my ear.

I know he's watching me and I know he's smiling.

'Your problem, Ron, is that you're too impatient'

'No, my problem is that I'm too trusting'

My tone is light, but I know what I say is true. I was pretty insane to ever get this far, insane, infatuated, inspired, call it what you will, it got me wandering around god knows where, happily dependant on the boy who once knocked one of my teeth out.

~~~~~~~~~~

It had been brewing, I suppose, ever since we met, although of course at eleven we could hardly know that. Any and every girl is told by her mother at some point that, if a boy teases you to death, then, secretly, he really likes you. As in * likes * with the emphasis on it.

I don't know if that always holds true for guys, but it did for me. After years of bullying, name-calling, tricks, resentment and anger, with a few broken limbs along the way, I was ready to call Draco Malfoy my worst enemy. I hated him. 

No I didn't.

Hatred is complex, and bizarre, and cold like scalding water sometimes feels when you first run it out of the tap. Like jealousy, it can spring up even towards people you like, people you love. 

Draco, well, I didn't know him well enough to hate him. I was just obsessed with him, annoyed with him. He got under my skin like he never did with Harry - some days I seemed to eat and breathe and dream Draco Malfoy until all I wanted was to smash his face in.

But that was confused, as well. Confused with something else that was happening to me that I barely understood. Adolescence, puberty, well, I have five older brothers, I know what goes on. Except that while they, and most of the boys I knew started surreptitiously hiding the informative 'WankWitch' all over the place, I, well…

…they had these trading cards. 'Wicked Witches & Wonderful Wizards'. It was something stupid like the hundred best-looking registered magic-users in the world, all in their underwear. They came free with a drink or sweets or something and basically it was the biggest craze since levitating yo-yos. Of course, the guys had the witches and the girls got the wizards, and everyone swapped away the ones from the 'wrong' gender. Among the boys there had to be huge cries of horror whenever you opened the packet and found you'd got three 'Meaty Merlins' again. 

And then there was me. With a little hoarded collection of the other boys' cast-offs trying to make sense of it all. 

I saw him. He had the bar…yes, it was chocolate bars they came in, I remember now…and he cut off the wrapping smoothly with his nail. I could see the distinctive red and black edging of the male cards, the glint off the image. And I saw him pocket it, deftly, so that no one who wasn't watching for it could have seen.

But I did. And by some sixth sense he felt my gaze, flicked his eyes up to meet it…

He flushed, involuntarily. Like he was uncomfortable and maybe unconsciously, I don't know, he licked his lips nervously and it was, like, yes, this other world exists, it's small, but it's there.

We both looked like a rabbit caught in the train's headlights.

I had to leave. I avoided him for weeks afterwards. I hated him.

No I didn't.

~~~~~~~~~~

'Just a little further now. Come on'

'You said that ten minutes ago'

Maybe one day we won't feel as though we need to argue, even when we mean it affectionately. His touch is still warm, ghosting through to my skin past the light cotton shirt I'm wearing. I never usually change my clothes before I see him, but tonight it all seemed different. He laughed as he arrived by the Lake - our now well-trodden rendezvous spot. He seemed…I don't know, light. Happy. And god knows I was too. Memories. Hopes for the future.

I didn't know that you could feel this way about someone. Probably because all this time I thought what I felt about girls was as good as it got. The words 'can you get?' and 'how wrong' come to mind…

'Why are you smiling, Ron? Something you'd like to share?'

'You sound like Snape.'

'Shut up!' He pinches me on the arm and I yelp in protest, but I keep my eyes shut. This is important to him, I realise that - and whatever it is I want him to know that I'll value that. That I am so pleased that something to do with me is important to him. 

I wonder where he's taking me?

Sometimes I realise I have no idea where this whole thing is going and most times I don't care. I'm walking this whole relationship with no idea of the destination, no idea what I want the destination to be. 

But I don't have my eyes closed about him. I know what I'm doing. I know him.

'There are some steps here, be careful'

Don't I?

~~~~~~~~~~

He always tried to hurt me, to make my life a misery. But he was doing new things after the book incident.

See, he knew my weakness then. Knew it wasn't my friends or my family or anything other than * myself *.

He would sit across the aisle in Potions, sucking his pencil contemplatively between his thin lips. In Herbology it was his quick fingers that flashed through my field of vision, sitting directly opposite and studiously ignoring me even as he let our knees 'accidentally' brush.

And then he lobbied to allow the Quidditch players to play shirtless in the hot weather. I had to sit through the entire Championship Final, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, not looking at Draco and not looking at Hermione, who was carefully not looking at Harry.

I missed the simple insults to my parentage.

I would lie in bed at night plotting revenge and some time between awake and asleep the revenge became something else. I knew I wanted to hit him, reach out to him, touch him, to hit him, but not, but to hurt, but not - his face stuck into my mind like a curse and I couldn't lose it whatever I did. 

* Whatever * I was doing…

I hated him.

No I didn't.

I had no idea where I was going then, either. Neither, I think, did he. I think maybe he was terrified. Perhaps if I'd thought about I wouldn't have done what I did.

But I'd do it again in a second.

I decided, to put it bluntly, to fight fire with fire. He was crueller than me, quicker with his tongue and mind, filled with more bile and vitriol to loose against anyone in a stream of insults. Able to see just how you felt and tailor the viciousness exactly to hurt the worst…to make it bleed and never let it heal….

~~~~~~~~~~

I'm trusting * him * to lead me through this place? 

Yes, I am. I'm not giving up on him now. I know him better than I did. 

A lot better.

~~~~~~~~~~

Malfoy had always been in control before. I could never match him or hope to affect him in the battlefields of snide remarks and cutting comments. But now, everything had changed. Now we had a currency for fighting that only we knew about, and if chose to pick on me that gave me all of those opportunities to pick back.

I walked into each lesson with a swagger, confident, cool, collected. When he sighed and leant back in his chair I would run my fingers through my hair and stick out the tip of my tongue as though I was concentrating. When he brushed my knee I would remember, and later stumble just to grab his shoulder and fall so close I could breathe in the air he had just exhaled. When he stared at me, I stared right back. 

And I took to using the games field for shirtless jogging practice during Slytherin Quidditch trials.

The escalation of anger and revenge was applied to lust. I tried to hurt him by ostensibly wanting to pleasure him and he did the same. In a whirlpool of confused emotions all that was clear was that the whole day meant nothing unless I saw him…the excitement I felt, knowing I would see him in the next class, the way I missed him when he wasn't around - that was just our old feud, old anger, old hate, right?

Yeah, cos we hated each other. That was why meeting his eyes shot a ripple through me like thunder…

One time in Potions, Crabbe jostled me in the queue for ingredients, causing me to fall over. Draco reprimanded him, and helped me up. Then he froze and actually shook his head as though trying to clear it. He dropped my arm like it was red-hot, frowned and moved away. I realised I'd forgotten to try and manipulate the moment as with my other 'accidents'.

We'd both started to forget what the relationship was really supposed to be. 

If we'd ever really known, that is.

Aggressive flirting or flirtatious aggression? Who knows? After all, it was all the relationship we had, all the connection we could manage. Our interactions had always consisted of violence and aggression, but I was beginning to believe that this was simply because there was some option - some 'understanding' of purpose - that two members of the same gender simply couldn't have.

Friends wasn't what we wanted to be. What else were we allowed to be but enemies?

~~~~~~~~~~

'Why do I get the feeling I've walked halfway to China by now?'

He laughs in response and then I almost miss his reply, for he takes my hand and interlaces our fingers, and a wave of jittering, warm sparks race through me.

That he * wants * to touch me, that still makes me feel drunkenly glorious.

'I told you already, we're nearly there. Honestly, Ron'

We probably haven't been going as long as I feel it to have been, but the time registers more fully when you can't see, and are treading carefully with each step. I always feel more aware when I'm with him anyway, more alive, more understood. 

Sometimes I think I've been waiting six years just to hear him call me 'Ron'.

I feel paving stones underfoot. The air is significantly cooler. He leads me on a few more metres then holds me still. I move towards him, resting my head on his shoulder and pulling him close, wanting to hold him to me so tightly I forget what it feels like to be without him.

He draws his arms around me for a second, and I feel a gentle kiss on my ear through my hair. But then he stands back, and holds me off.

'Wait here.'

'Where are you going?' I'm a little disconcerted.

'I'll be back in a minute. I have to check something.'

'Can I open my eyes yet?'

'No. Wait.'

'Draco?'

But there is no answer, he's gone. 

I am * going * to keep my eyes closed. For a minute, at any rate.

Where the hell am I and where is he?

For a minute, at least.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been one of those days.

I was angry at the world, without any good reason, except that I was a teenager. I was tired of everyone, bored of everything, and I hadn't seen * him * all day. I forgot a book in my room, and had to run back to get it, so that I ended up wandering the corridors, late, and with no desire to arrive in my lesson.

He was skiving off Care of Magical Creatures.

He was running somewhere.

I was running in the opposite direction.

Neither of us really looking at where we were going…

Bang!

As I picked my books, and myself, off the floor, I turned to him in genuine anger like you get when you bash your funny-bone.

'You fucking idiot, Draco! I'm late for bloody Transfiguration!'

'You've torn my robes, Weasel! You'll pay for this!'

'Do you call me that because you can't stand that I have a * normal * name or what?'

'It describes you well, you, your siblings and particularly your mother'

'Fuck you!'

'You'd like that, wouldn't you?'

I just leapt up and hit him. He hit me. Arms flailing and tearing, angry. 

No, we weren't angry. I don't think either of us was angry.

He shoved me against the hard wall, hand at my throat. Pain lashed through my stomach where he'd punched me, and I could see the tracks of my nails on his face. I spat in his face. Then he kissed me. 

Then I bit his lip, hard.

Then we kissed again, and he pulled my hair until tears came to my eyes. I struggled to escape from his hands, and somehow we were moving against each other. He was hitting me or caressing me or something, gasping for breath, keeping his lips locked onto mine. 

Tasting of hot blood from his lip, and salt tears from my eyes dripping in. 

More and more intense, hot, pain ignored for the pleasure. Moving again and again against me, burning where the fabric of my jersey rubbed my stomach. 

Burning all over. And I wanted, I needed, I had to have and now…

I stopped simply twisting and grabbed his back, pulled him in, up and down next to me, shocked by how he pressed into my groin, so evident. He didn't move away, and I felt a thrill of fear meeting his eyes.

Then 

'Oh!'

'Shit!'

And he slumped against me, heavy, looking down at where damp patches were spreading across both our trousers. His eyes turned to me in surprise that looked bizarrely like terror.

I felt suddenly drained, emotionally and physically exhausted. It was all too much, too complex, piling in on me. Some instinct to do with Biology and procreation was telling me _hold him hold him hold him don't let him go_ and something to do with my upbringing was telling me to smash his face in.

My reason was just trying to process his fear. My own. The fact that I felt the best and worst I had ever done in my life and the fact that I was still late for Transfiguration. 

I could have said something, I suppose. I still don't know what.

But I just walked away, in silence. He stayed, leaning against the wall, and when, despite myself, I glanced back, I saw that he had his head in his hands. He looked up and saw me staring, and an ugly fear and anger passed over his face, but he too was silent.

But he didn't call me names either.

I gradually became aware that I was smiling at him. And then I ran like a bat out of hell.

That, you could say, was the true beginning, that and…..

~~~~~~~~~~

I can hear a noise ahead of me. A voice? Distant, it must be quite loud.

I won't look.

But what if he's fallen and hurt himself? What if a teacher's coming? We shouldn't be here at this hour. What if he's telling me to open my eyes and go to him and hasn't realised I can't hear?

Who does he think he is making me wait here anyway?

I can hear noises, people. That's it. I let my eyes open, then flinch in pain from the lights. 

Rumbling as they draw nearer.

Within seconds, it seems, they're all around me, with torches and glowing wands, fuzzy shapes moving closer and closer. I raise my hand up to cover my eyes, feeling more and more afraid. I wish I had my wand. 

'Who…? Draco?' I call into the room wildly, randomly, hoping for a stream of that deep laughter, hands smoothing my hair and telling me it's all OK and why am I such a scaredy-cat? 

Instead a harsh voice echoes from behind the lights:

' ''Will you walk into my parlour, said the spider to the fly?'' like the parlour, do you Weasley?'

'Who are you? What's going on?'

The voice laughs, nastily. I try to squint at the figure approaching but the light still blinds me. I'm starting to sweat, and it's running into my eyes.

'He wants to know what's going on, guys!' The voice addresses the people behind him, and is greeted with catcalls and laughter. 'He wants to know, so why don't we tell him?'

He comes right up close to me, grabs me by the sweater.

'This is what's going on…' 

He slams me against the wall, jarring my head.

'This!' Punches my stomach.

'This!' Slaps me round the face.

'And this!' throws me to the ground and kicks me. 

I can hear this voice crying out, and it's me, whimpering in pain. 

And then I look up, because I recognise something, some tone, look up into the seething, baying crowd. The faces are coming into focus now, and even if they weren't I'd know the hair. 

There, in the mob, is Draco…

~~~~~~~~~~ TBC

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Do not despair fair slashers! All is not precisely as it seems! But will Ron ever believe that………..? The sequel: 'A Matter of Belief' is coming soon……*g*


	2. A Matter of Belief

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A Matter of Belief

By Green

Pairing: Ron/Draco

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Series: 'What Matters' Series 2/3 

Sequel to 'A Matter of Trust', you won't have a clue what happens here unless you've read that

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Disclaimer: Not mine. Well, apart from the Fitch-Harris Cup for Personal Bravery in the Face of Malfunctioning Broomsticks which is entirely my fault.

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Rating: R - more or less

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Warnings: Slash, violence, naughty words and god knows when they did their homework assignments

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Notes: This part is in Draco POV.

I don't know whether ff.n allows this, but I want to rec the excellent art (much of which is R/D) of the great Lizard, who can be found at http:lizardjunk.tk/ Some of the best HP art you are likely to encounter plus she makes v. cool LJ icons

~~~~~~~~~~

'Ron! Ron! Ron, can you hear me?'

I'm calling him, over and over, calling, calling, wanting him to look up, to let me know they haven't fucking * killed * him. I'm straining with all my might - _reaching_-, trying to get to him, trying to get free, desperately - wildly, with a panic I didn't know I could feel, but a boy and a girl have my arms bent up agonisingly behind my back and I can't escape without breaking my bones.

There are maybe fifteen, twenty people here. Mostly boys. I watched Ron earlier, trying to see them, his eyes burning in the light. I felt terrible, because it was my fault he couldn't see. It must be ten times worse for him, not knowing how many there are, or who they are. 

But then, maybe it's better he doesn't know.

Seamus. 

Blaise.

Colin.

Lavender.

Quite a few Slytherins, yes, but at least equal numbers of Hufflepuffs, some Ravenclaws and by far more Gryffindors than anyone else.   


They're fucking drunk is what they are. They've stumbled out of Hogsmeade, wondered what to do with their evening, and been like, hey, let's beat up the fags…

We knew our relationship wasn't exactly popular, but this?

Colin Creevey looks like he's about to throw up, but he's standing there all the same. Yelling: _Traitor, bastard, sicko, pervert, traitor, traitor, traitor…_

I should have anticipated this, shouldn't have let my guard down for a second when I heard them coming and went to see who it was. But they were too fast and too unexpected and recently I've forgotten how important it is to mistrust everyone you see, and so I'm standing here * screaming * at him to tell me that he's OK.

Finally he looks up, and I wince at the way his face is bleeding and bruised. 

But it didn't look hurt until he saw me. 

And as the crowd drag me off and upstairs, trying to decide whether to throw me in the Lake or pit me against the Whomping Willow, all I can see is the hurt and disgust in his eyes.

And I understand.

I understand what he thinks just happened… I understand that he honestly can believe I'd do this to him…

__

Oh god, Ron…

Why the fuck was I deluded enough to think he ever could trust me?

~~~~~~~~~~

That was one hell of a day, the first time...

And 'one heaven of a day' isn't an expression, but…

Ever since he'd started playing me at my own game I'd begun questioning my own motives... Started to realize that he drove me crazy in all kinds of ways, more than I'd ever thought of…

I was so surprised afterwards when he told me that he was literally feeling his way, that he never had a long-term game plan for his actions.

I can't imagine not planning ahead. Not knowing the timetable for the next hour, next day and next decade. My life is more or less set in stone. It doesn't matter what grades I get or what I have them in, what job I get or if I even get one - my destiny is to sit on the Malfoy millions, produce another heir and maybe aid an uprising of Evil should the need arise. 

Or at least, that was my destiny. Maybe for a short while it was even one I wanted. 

How to put it? 'Dad, I have to tell you - me - not really a breeder if you know what I'm saying?'

And I hated it, hated myself, until the day I discovered that being like this meant I had a shot at Ron Weasely. Well, I say a shot; I figured I could play him for a while - really get to him and wind him up. Then, when I had him crazy, I would have him, writhing and uncomfortable and desperate, and leave him behind with the last of my innocence. 

I thought I would have control.

~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe to him that seemed like my idea today. Control. But I wasn't thinking of that, I was thinking of trust. 

Not even a blindfold would have been acceptable, I wanted him to trust me to lead him here because he had a free choice and he chose to… I just wanted to know if he felt…safe, with me. He knows how hard I find it to believe words, promises, how little I am able to trust people, but _actions_…actions are truer than words. All that was waiting down here was my happiness; I was going to explain it all. 

Explain myself. My feelings. Try and tell him that I…tell him everything.

…I wanted him to * want * to trust me…

I believed he could.

~~~~~~~~~~

After that day…that crazy, angry, * hot *….well, shag…that corridor I could never walk down afterwards. After that it all began.

At first he avoided me, I think, but we saw each other in the Great Hall that evening at dinner. We had to. I couldn't eat, I couldn't think, I couldn't do anything but stare at him. At his beautiful lips and unruly red hair - unruly because of…my hands ran through there…and other places…and he…

Staring back at me…unable to talk to his friends…transfixed like me.

It was one thought, one idea, one total obsession: Horny. Absolutely and purely that. 

Bread rolls. Main Course. Seconds. Pudding. Announcements. Tea and Coffee.

By the end of it I was * aching * for him.

And when I ran outside to the Lake just to get away from it all, he was already there. 

We met in silence. It wasn't like there was anything we could possibly have said. This wasn't supposed to have happened, and yet…I can't explain what I felt just then…as if, for the first time in my life, I had no idea what I was doing or why.

And yet I knew exactly why. Because of him.

I could see it in his eyes _Maybe this isn't exactly what I wanted but I want to get laid more than I want to quibble._

I felt the same. Because that was all it was.

No it wasn't.

Malfoys talk about power a lot, you know. But in the end if you want to have power over someone that badly then it's them that have the power over you.

~~~~~~~~~~

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Oh god, Ron…

I don't know how he is, I'm terrified that he's passed out and that he'll choke on his tongue. I'm so angry with him. I'm ready to lash out at him in any way imaginable. 

But I want to go and hold him, near and safe and warm.

The fact that they're dragging, pushing, kicking me to the Lake is an almost welcome distraction. 

These kids feared me, once. Before. 

These fucking shits thought that * I * was evil? 

They're getting tired, some of them, I can see the fear in their eyes, the realization of what they're doing, but this just means they can't stop, they can't question themselves now. 

__

I say we show the world!

One of them seems to have become the ringleader. I don't even want to know who.

__

I say we show them what he is!

Screams of assent, and they grab my right arm, hold the other behind my back even tighter so I gasp in pain, dragging me stumbling along corridors, paths, over grass, rocks…

I can't be here; I have to go somewhere else…

~~~~~~~~~~

I suppose it's been eight weeks since all this started - we never exactly kept anniversaries, because at first it was so underhand, so side-bracketed from 'real life'. Nooks and crannies of time just like the dark corners we met in. 

And at first we argued. A lot. More, actually, than we had done before. I was really, really unkind to him and his friends for a while, and he got various tricks from his brothers and played them on me - nasty ones. When we met at the other times we didn't speak. Maybe we truly believed that there was nothing to say, that all we had in common was hatred.

But that was getting harder and harder to believe. Harder and harder to want to believe. We were learning about each other in a million silent ways and I * knew* - I knew what made him shiver and what made him grit his teeth so hard the veins in his head stood out. 

I knew how to make his pale, freckled hands with their long thin fingers grab onto me and just hold me, and how to make his eyes glaze over slowly or roll back in surprised ecstasy…

And he, clever bastard, knew how to make me do all that stuff.

And so, when I saw him, the anger and fear was going. When he walked into a room I just wanted to grin and maybe kiss him, or, dear god, hug him. Pavlov, right? See Ron, now drool… Fine, so he turned me on, and he was bloody good at it, so what? I hated him.

But you see, I didn't.

I tried, you know, to find reasons to. There weren't any. He was interesting, funny, *hot *…he didn't seem brainwashed by the whole Gryffindor thing, his sense of humour was pleasantly warped and he played a mean game of chess.

The fact that I couldn't dislike him made me more annoyed with him than any actual quality of his personality…

The bizarre thing was how quickly he figured out that I was worrying more than he was. We still weren't talking in the communicating sense of the word, but sometimes- afterwards - his eyes would widen and he looked…concerned. Then maybe, I don't know, the fifth time or something, an early-morning rendezvous, he just reached out and gently started straightening my hair. Like, caring.

Well I freaked out well and good. 

'What the * fuck * are you doing?' I slapped his hand away and ran off with my shirt under my arm, leaving him gasping and outraged on the floor. 

Which, you would think, would make us argue more. He'd pissed me off and I had to have annoyed him pretty bad too. But instead of being angry I was just really, really scared. I felt terrified that he was going to ignore me, or be angry. I couldn't stop worrying, couldn't stop wishing it was already Potions just so I could see him, figure out if he would ever let me near him again.

Don't misunderstand, I was being one selfish bastard. I never once worried if he was hurt, if he was going through the mess I was. One of the perks of never having had a functional relationship was never thinking of stuff like that.

But already I wasn't thinking that I could just go and command him to come to me and he would. I got that whoever did work that way, he didn't.

~~~~~~~~~~

It hurts. Pain and red and hurting so much. 

But worse is that thought, over and over, _He thinks I would do this, He thinks I would do this, He thinks I wanted to do this…_

I am * not * going to fucking cry for them…

~~~~~~~~~~

Trying to apologise in an aloof manner to the guy you are having it off with almost every day whilst both of you are in a Potions lesson and ostensibly worst enemies is quite a challenge.

My stomach flipped when I saw him. He looked unhappy, and angry, and sat at the other end of the classroom, with Harry and Hermione between him and me.

I looked at him and then looked down when he looked and then looked up so that he looked away quickly, trying to pretend he wasn't looking. 

It wasn't funny at the time. It was hell. Not helped by the fact that he was still wearing the same shirt he'd had on…this morning. Rumpled, and I could see he hadn't repaired where the third button down had been ripped off in our haste and So. Very. Sexy.

But what could I do? How could I talk to him? Oh, yeah…that would work.

On the way out of the lesson I called out:

'A pity your friend doesn't share, isn't it Weasley?'

'Malfoy?' His tone was icy, seriously irritated. His eyebrows were in clear 'What the fuck now?' alignment.

'Time turners? Like the one Granger's been using oh-so-secretly **again** this term for the NEWTS? I was just thinking that you could use one.'

'OK, Malfoy, skip to the cruel point and let us move on.' 

Harry Potter thinks he's so witty. Stupid 'I-could-afford-designer-glasses-but-I-think-these-make-me-cute' little twat.

'Well, Weasley, it would give you a chance to rethink that shirt as a choice of clothing for a human being. Or you could go back to when they were actually fashionable, like when it was bought for your older brother. Don't you ever want that? A chance to go back and not do something stupid you now regret?'

And on that last sentence, * my * eyebrows were trying to communicate pretty hard.

He spent three seconds looking unbelievingly angry, then suddenly I could practically see the lightbulb switch on inside his head. He started one of those gorgeous face-splitting grins that make my knees tremble, then caught himself.

'Go drown yourself in the Lake, Malfoy.'

And so that was settled to mutual satisfaction. Later, at the lakeside, he did an imitation of me trying to insult him and apologise at the same time and the weird thing was that even as I hit out in protest, I knew I wasn't really cross.

And then we had a kind of wrestling match and the usual turn of events occurred. 

But afterwards, in the cooling air and nearness, I reached out to him. He turned to look at me, deep into the eyes and I felt…kind. 

I don't like it, quite. It's a dangerous feeling to have. Makes you too vulnerable, too powerless.

It freaked me out, or at least I was aware that it should have done. And yet…it's hard to worry about things you enjoy. I mean, at least you can write them off as urges, instincts, you know? 

It's when you begin to get altruistic that the freaking out truly begins…

~~~~~~~~~~

There's a red mist over my vision, I can feel searing pain all over and I think my shoulder's dislocated. 

The blood in my mouth tastes of mud now. 

__

Maybe they've gone.

I can't see.

I can see, just not with my eyes right now…

~~~~~~~~~~

We'd arranged to meet one evening by the greenhouses. I mean, actually arranged, finally acknowledging that this was happening, that this existed. 

Except he didn't turn up. 

I strode up and down in the cold for about ten minutes, feeling annoyed, then angry, then worried. Had I offended him again?

I could have walked away. Jacked off in the shower. Found some girl, even, it was easily done.

But I didn't. 

For whatever reasons, and I certainly didn't know what they were they were at the time, I went looking for him around the school. He was in the caretaker's office - they'd set him cleaning the silverware for about the hundredth time in his life. I swear, they should get another cup to engrave his name on for that.

Well, you can imagine it; I looked around the door, saw him and sighed. I couldn't help it, I mean, he was clearly not getting away that evening, which was my plans shot. I couldn't be with him tonight, not the way I wanted. I couldn't get any pleasure now.

And yet, when he looked up and saw me, I somehow walked into the room and squatted on my heels next to him and the Fitch-Harris Cup for Personal Bravery in the Face of Malfunctioning Broomsticks, which was still three-quarters silver oxide. 

'Having fun?'

'I'm sorry, Draco, I had to come straight here, they wouldn't even let me go to the toilet, so I couldn't get a message to you.' His tone was light, but he seemed a bit defensive.

'Why are you here?' I was expecting, well, actually, I didn't know, most times he had been in detention it had had something to do with me, and lately it had been far from my interests to put him there. 

'I was in a fight.'

'Yeah?'

'With Harry.'

'Excuse me?'

'I was in a fight with Harry.'

'Fuck.'

'It's that surprising, is it? I was going with 'Shit' myself.' He was still way, way too casual, his hand was shining this cup faster and faster and I could almost feel the way his eyes were heating and brimming. 

What I did next isn't actually that surprising, relatively speaking, when you bear in mind that if it had been anyone else I would never have even begun the conversation, that if it had been a year ago I would have just insulted his mother and gone, that if it had been a week ago I would have told him the next time I was free for some groping and left.

So my doing * anything * was weird enough. What I did precisely makes no significant difference.

So no huge deal, I kind of, well, patted him slightly. Then he sort of twisted, almost involuntarily, and before I knew it he'd buried his face in my shoulder, arms clinging around my shoulders. And it's like some kind of jerk reaction, you know, if someone does that, you kind of run your fingers into their hair, pull their head into your chest, stroking, one hand circling on their back. The warm scent of hair reaches deep into your nose and you feel a kind of tightening in your chest, because they're * there * you know?

Once this would have been embarrassing, once it would have been awful and stupid and I would have despised him for it, but once a lot of things happened. 

I just…I wanted…I've never been good with these kind of words. All I can say is that, as I sat there, squatting uncomfortably with the circulation to my lower leg gradually getting cut off, I didn't think any of this. Just rocked him, soothed him, caressed him. 

It was all about him. I don't remember having one individual thought. 

And somehow I felt…warm. 

After a few minutes he looked up sheepishly and sniffed, scrubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. But he kept one arm around me, and I didn't let my hand off his shoulder.

'Sorry, Draco. It's just…I've never fought with him like that before.'

'What happened?' 

He averts his eyes from mine when I ask, and then looks down at the ground:

'They - Harry, Seamus and Dean - were making fun of you. Being really mean. I told them to stop, to grow up.' I could hear the tremble in his voice. 'They thought I was teasing, and so then went on and on. I tried to ignore them, I mean, I guess they're entitled to an opinion.' He glanced up at me with a half-grin and I chuckled, but I feared what would come next. 

Sure enough, his brow furrowed and he unconsciously gripped my jumper more tightly:

'You see, finally, they were just throwing names around. Dean said something about you like ''He's such a bastard'' and then…and then Seamus said ''A queer bastard!'' and then Harry, he laughed and laughed like it was the funniest thing, like calling someone gay was the same as saying they were cruel or vindictive or unpleasant or obnoxious. All of them were just spluttering out things like ''Yeah, he's so gay.''. So I punched him. I punched them all. And then MacGonagall came in.'

He looked up at me, full into my eyes. His still shone with the tears, and I felt at that moment such a pure surge of anger towards Harry-fucking-Potter who could be so blind about his so-called best friends. I could see all the anger and distress I felt reflected right there in him, because I felt for him, with him…and come to think of it, I felt pretty damn proud of him beating up my least favourite Gryffindors…and over *me *.

'Ron…'

I didn't have the words; my throat was too tight. I just kissed him. 

And this will sound stupid, but it felt like the first time. Like the first time I, knowing who I was and how I felt, had kissed him, knowing who he was and why I wanted to kiss him in the first place.

He held me so tightly. 

After the kiss I released him, and he looked up at me, as if he was about to say something, but he just smiled and went back to shining the cup. And all the rest of the evening I sat there on the floor helping him, his head resting gently on my shoulder. We stayed in silence for almost half an hour, but then he asked me some question, and then we talked and talked and talked. Stuff that would seem boring, and some of it was, but you have to understand, we never * saw * each other. Never recognised each other as people when we were kids. It was like we were each some little stereotype to fit into, so we did. 

His family, my family, what we like to eat, to wear, sports we follow, music we listen to…just an ordinary conversation in a way, but then we'd always done things backwards hadn't we? For any other couple this would be the first date, random discussion of tastes and habits. 

I even said that to him, and he said 'Couple?' 

'Couple.'

'Are you going soft in your old age or what?'

'Going soft is the least of my worries right now, Ron, as I'm sure you know.'

And although I meant every inch of the innuendo, it was also true in the way he'd asked. 

He raised an eyebrow, gave a sympathetic grimace, and gave me a gentle kiss on the forehead:

'I know alright, mate - trust me, I know _ exactly _ how you feel. Hey! I'll be finished in…um, a few days.' He grinned evilly, which, believe it or not; he is actually far better at doing than me…

I'd always thought, you see, that caring for people made you weaker… That you lost something. But I had him. I * had * him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Blood…mud…water…

…grass…cold…

…aching head too…cuts there…happened?…blurred, not….who?…aches…bleeding.

I raise my head from the ground, and try to lift myself up. I have to go and get help - he'll still be lying there. I have to get to the School doors. I have to get there. 

I fall, and curse, and get up again - I * have * to get there. I have to get there or I'll never be able to yell at him. I'll never be able to be mad at him. That fucking bastard just spat on our entire relationship, lowered me to the level of these pigs, mistrusted me, disobeyed me… 

Ron….please, just be alright

Don't let them have hurt you.

Please. 

* Please *

__

……… * Ron *…

~~~~~~~~~~

Continued in 'A Matter of Truth' - coming soon !


	3. A Matter of Truth

****

A Matter of Truth

By Green

****

Series: 'What Matters' Series 3/3

Sequel to 'A Matter of Trust' and 'A Matter of Belief' you'll need to read them to understand this

****

Disclaimer: Not mine

****

Rating: R

****

Warnings: SLASH 

****

Feedback: green99bottles@aol.com ….pretty please * g *

~~~~~~~~~~

When he wakes up, I'm there. And so the first thing he sees, the first name he says, is mine.

'Ron?'

I take his hand, lean over the small bed and smile at him. Because I've been thinking all this time, and I think I finally know and I think…

But then he pulls away. Turns his back to me.

'Draco? What is it?'

His voice is quiet and artificially steady:

'I think you should go. I think you should leave.'

'You want to be left alone?'

'No. I want you to go.'

You know it's funny, fucking hilarious actually, because although I never scored well on those logical reasoning tests I got what he meant in about a nanosecond flat.

'Why?' 

He kept his face to the wall. Silence.

'Draco Malfoy I am not going to let you give me bloody _orders_. I think I deserve a reason.' 

Silence. 

'What is this? Out of nowhere! I know you're upset about earlier, you think I'm not? What? Did they say something about me? Did they tell you some lie? What did they do to you? Please, tell me what the matter is.'

Silence. 

~~~~~~~~~~

When I came around in the cellar several hours earlier there had been a brutal silence. 

Darkness. 

No one.

'Draco!' I screamed into the darkness. No answer.

Even moving my muscles enough to talk hurt. I could feel a sharp pain in my arm and there was blood congealing on my skin, itching as it dried.

Something tugged at my mind, shouting loudly through the pain and the mess…as much as I wanted to slip back into oblivion, I knew that there was a reason that I couldn't…

* Draco * 

Taking a deep breath, I reached into my robe and found my wand, which luckily came through unscathed. 

'Lumos!'

The light told me nothing I hadn't already guessed - I was lying on the floor of the cellar and I was alone. No remnants of my attackers remained besides the mud from a hundred boots on the floor.

Which means Draco had to be somewhere else. Which meant that I had to get to somewhere else. 

Seeing him being restrained like that made me quake, made me want to explode, because they were * saving * him, keeping the best till last, doing me over as a practice before they moved onto him. I felt… there isn't even a word. Angry sounds laughable compared to how seeing him like that made me feel.

But anger, or whatever it was, helped. I started to move, inch by inch, trying to get up and walk. To reach the stairs. Get up them. Stairs I came down so recently in a kind of joyful haze… If only he'd taken me somewhere else - the Lake or the pitch or the Astronomy Tower. If only…

And then I was standing. _So I have to get up the stairs next. I can do this. * He * could do this if he was here, so I can. _

__

I can do it for him.

~~~~~~~~~~

'Draco, please, tell me what's wrong.' I've got up from my chair and I'm sitting on the bed, and I know I'm invading his personal space, and I know I shouldn't still be here begging, but…

He's all hunched in the bed, knees curled up in the foetal position, head angled down so the light reflects off his hair. It was caked thick with mud when he came in, but Madam Pomfrey cleaned him up well. The weird thing is that it only makes him look more vulnerable - covered in mud and blood you look like you fought, but cleaned and tidied it just appears like someone walked in and took a scalpel to you, clean and neat and without encountering resistance.

I can see he has this little cut on the back of his neck where someone kicked him.

I can hear his unsteady breathing, I can see his ribs rise and fall beneath the blanket. 

I know he's trying to make me leave, but…

~~~~~~~~~~

The question has to come; 'When did I ever start to care what happened to Draco Malfoy?'

The problem with questions like that is that they assume you're watching out for beginnings and root causes. That you aren't just buoyed along in a whirl until one day it's all there before you and it just is, as if the world couldn't be any other way.

As if you could never imagine wanting it any other way.

In the Trophy Room, the way he held me… That was the first time I ever thought that he…the first time I let myself dare to feel safe with him.

But then, I'm the one who moved to his arms for comfort. I was the one who asked the question, whatever it was.

And it was only as I found myself deep in his arms, sneezing dust from the greenhouses where he'd waited so long for me, left to * find * me…it was only then that I figured out how much I wanted him. 

But I didn't say it. I still couldn't see how that could ever be possible. 

I could tell, the next day, that it had affected him too. I could tell he couldn't take his eyes off me. I could tell how much he wanted to walk over to me and just… Whatever it was that 'ordinary' couples did when they met in corridors. 

I stared right back at him, and when I saw his pale skin flush over it only made me smile because I knew what would happen later and even though it scared me it also made me feel ripples of excitement like there were little sparks in my stomach.

We had * embraced * for the first time that night in the Trophy Room, and somehow that felt more important than all the times we'd… You see, we hadn't, I mean…

We had never trusted each other. We were too careful to watch out that we never seemed acquiescent or dominated, too careful not to check every moment that neither had gained the position of power, that neither gave without receiving first.

So until then it had been something exciting and heated and all an adolescent boy might dream of, but in all honesty we did nothing that we might not have done equally easily had we been alone. Perhaps because we almost wished we were alone, back then, we were still embarrassed on some level - of each other, of ourselves.

But after he held me close, after I fell into his arms and he just brought me near to him and we clung together, after that it had to change. 

That night, when he kissed my mouth he didn't remove his lips from me again. Not until I lay finished and languid and all that was left that I wanted was to snuggle with him into a heap of blankets.

And it was so amazingly, fantastically…we were…he…I think I told him he was beautiful, cringeworthy as it sounds. But, when he's near me, and he's happy, and I've messed up his hair really well - _Oh god, my hands were all over his hair, in it and through it and pulling it because I had to * hold * like I was on a rollercoaster, like I was going to fly and I could * touch * him as he knelt there _- and I can touch him all over, or could if he wasn't clinging to me like a limpet and he's maybe breathing * just * too fast and deep… 'Beautiful' really isn't adequate, isn't the right word, but it's the only way I can describe how I see him just then. It's how he makes me feel.

It's time like that that I feel most guilty for doubting him.

It's not like every relationship is easy, I know that. But with him, I mean, sometimes he is just so… Sometimes I think he hasn't changed at all.

Quite recently he pushed me down and sat on my lap, facing me with his legs around my waist and started to kiss me - passionately, deeply. Then he suddenly stopped.

'Dra…? Wha?' I tried to pull him back, but he held my wrists firmly and his face was blank. Cruel.

'It's a house match tomorrow Ron. Who do want to catch the snitch?'

'Draco, what the fuck is this?' I struggled, but he wouldn't let me go.

'Who do you want to catch the snitch, Ron, him or me?' His tone was so absolutely perfectly expressionless that I knew this was a very Big Deal. He's only like that when he knows you really need some emotions to read off how he's feeling.

'Draco…' I sighed, willing him to tell me it didn't matter and knowing the longer I didn't answer the more important this would get. 'Who cares if you catch it or he does? You've said yourself you don't care about the house system any more. You said you'd grown out of it. Does it really matter who catches some piece of sport's equipment?'

'You don't get it, do you?' he replied, very softly but with a rough edge to his voice. 'How it feels, to be up there, one against the other. It's personal. Every year we've been at this sodding school I've raced against Harry Potter for the snitch. It matters very much to me. But then, that isn't what I asked you, is it? I asked who * you * wanted to catch the snitch.'

I stared at him, I couldn't believe he'd try and pin me like this, force me to choose and tell him my decision. 

'Draco, even if I told you, how would you ever know if I'd told the truth or not?'

I pushed him off me and walked out. We hadn't argued, exactly, because I couldn't quite bring myself to make an issue out of it. He was so different, at times, and I always tried to forget when he could be…harsh. He never physically hurt me, or even really insulted me, but he's a boy with a lot of darkness inside.

I didn't ask to know that some days, some hours, he could also be perfect. But I do and I can never unlearn it. That's partly what ties us together. We see each other with the clarity only enemies could have.

Only lovers could have.

~~~~~~~~~~

'Fucking. Leave. Me. Alone.'

He won't look at me, still, and his voice is harsh and low. He throws the words out like he wishes they were punches. 

'Draco, you are not pulling this shit with me. I know you, remember? And you know me and you know I won't let this just be your random decision.'

But I'm starting to panic, now, because I * think * he's having a mood swing, that he's not serious, but then again, maybe he isn't. And that makes a kind of vacuum in my chest, just waiting to swallow me up. 

I lift my hand, slowly, tentatively, and rest it on his side. He waits a second too long before he twitches and shakes it off. 

__

When did I fall in love with you?

What a time to have an epiphany, but something in that moment, that space, that sensation as my hand touches him opens some barrier in my brain and I * know *.

His silence gets louder and louder, but I won't break it. 

I won't break.

I can be as stubborn and difficult as he can and I am going to make him say this, whatever it is. I'm not giving in. 

~~~~~~~~~~

There are far….far….too many stairs in this school.

But I'd reached the top. I'd got there, got out of the cellar. And if I could fight this long and this hard, *he * had to be OK, right?

Not in the corridor. Not in the Hall.

Outside.

I stumbled to the door, and hung onto it, looking out at the painful morning light. The sun was hanging bloated as a stomach ache in the air, the grass sharp and frosted. Trees, water, flowers, outbuildings…

Cold air whistling.

__

Draco…

I saw him out of the corner of my eye first, because he was away to the right, but near to the steps, stretched out like he was trying to get to them. There was far too much pink on the frost around him and I ran and fell and collapsed by him and shook and shook him and pulled him close and cursed and pleaded and kissed his forehead and cried…

At some point people ran out of the building and took us up to the Infirmary. I wouldn't let go of him.

~~~~~~~~~~

'When they attacked you…' he whispers.

I twist sharply round, I've been staring into space and waiting for nearly twenty minutes. 

He slowly turns over and looks at me. He has a black eye and his lip is cut.

__

Whether he leaves me or not, those people are going to pay…

File it, save it. Later.

'When they attacked you, you looked up and you saw me.'

'Yes.' I don't want to remember, but I can - the panic, the pain, the terror that he would be next and the knowledge of how much they disliked him.

Because I disliked him that much, or nearly that much, once…

'The way you looked, just then. I knew what you were thinking.' His voice is horribly low and soft and terrifyingly lacking in anger or sarcasm.

'I was worried about you, Draco. I knew they were working themselves up to get at you. And after it had all been so…perfect.' I move my hand to his face and for a second he lets it stay and I think maybe it's OK.

He moves his hand to cover mine.

'And I believe you. So please, believe me?'

'What is it?' 

'When I saw you, I thought you were deciding that I was behind the attack.'

'What?' I feel a kind of terrifying coldness at the very thought. 'How could you even imagine I would think that?'

'I know. I shouldn't have done.' He looks down at the bedspread, which he twists and pleats with his fingers. 'I shouldn't mistrust you. I shouldn't believe you're so incapable of loyalty or belief in me. I shouldn't always think that you value me as low as…as I've valued others. That's why.'

'Why what?'

'Why this can't go on.' Cold, emotionless…except that it breaks ever so slightly at the edges.

'No.'

'It has to be this way, Ron. How could this ever work? It was…fun, but it's not…it can't last. It's a stupid hormonal delusion.' 

It's the way he says it that kills me, he sounds almost ragged. As though whatever he used to use to sound this way has been out of use too long to work any more. He twitches his hands into the blankets in a way he never would have…before. 

As for me? I feel this sharp pain in my chest for him, this absolute and inescapable *tie * that I never wanted or expected. 

'You know Draco, you're right in one way. I would have every right to suspect you of plotting against me, because, let's face it, you made almost seven years of my life as much hell as you possibly could and I actually fucking feared you for a very long time. But I never thought you were behind that attack. Never.'

I look him straight in the eye.

'It's not what I know about you that matters, it's what I believe about you.' 

I feel that catch in my chest again, and a kind of heaviness in my throat. 

I look up at him, pale and bruised and embittered. The one boy I've ever hated, the one boy I've ever…

'And you know what, Draco, sometimes this * has * sucked. Sometimes I've wanted to just bash you like I used to. But most of the time I've wanted to be with you, because for some strange fucking dramatic-ironic reason you complete me.'

I get up and walk to the door. 

'Goodbye, Draco.'

~~~~~~~~~

'I want to show you something.' He had said to me, it seems like weeks ago instead of barely a day.

'What?'

'It's a surprise.' 

Once I would have refused, point blank. Once I never would have even considered letting my guard down around him.

But once I might almost have been in that crowd, punching him. 

Everyone makes choices.

And so I let myself close my eyes, and let him guide me wherever he wanted us to go. I decided to trust him.

I could only decide to trust him because I knew I could doubt him if I chose.

I only hope he knew that.

~~~~~~~~~~

The past week has been Hell. Unmitigated. 

The investigation into the attacks has been going on all week, and so everyone's tense and edgy, whispering and accusing and scared.

And I've lost him. 

I didn't think this could happen. I thought that whatever could occur, whatever people did to us, we'd be strong enough to weather it. 

I guess I just never thought about what we could do to ourselves. 

I wander around feeling like someone's taken the colours out of the world. I can't talk to anyone, I eat but I don't taste. I don't cry but I can't smile either. 

I go for long walks after dark, when I should be working. Outside in the cold, with rotting leaves under my feet. Once we tumbled through them, and he held the reddest ones up to my hair and tried to find a match. Now they're all dulled and black and damp. 

I still can't figure out if I did something wrong, or if it never could have worked. Sometimes I have this terrible fear that breaking it off was the worst thing we've ever done. Sometimes I hate him. 

But all the time I know I love him. 

That's the most horrible thing of all.

I place my feet one after the other on the icy ground, trying hard not to slip or stumble.

Today the worst day of all arrived. Endless dismal lessons followed by interminable silent meals in the Hall, stiffly quiet with all the unspoken accusations flying around the Year. When I get outside at last I want to yell or scream, but I would barely hear it, the wind's so loud. The rain lashes down onto me in rivers and the slush freezes my feet. 

I walk blindly on, cursing and muttering and beating out my anger with each step I take. On. On. On. On. I feel stupid and hopeless and lost. 

Then everything stops in my head but the terrible thought that I'm falling. Suddenly the ground is disappearing beneath me. The ice! I'm slipping away, losing balance. I fail my arms but I'm still falling, crashing, sliding, unable to stop myself, unable to correct myself, unable to stop the hideous, fast, inevitable…

SPLASH!

I reflexively brace every muscle as the icy waters of the Lake close around me. 

I thrash and kick, but there's nothing, no bottom, no foothold. Water fights into my eyes and jars painfully into my nose. I can't breathe, I can't see. My foot snags itself into a reed that pulls and twists. I can't get free of it, I can't swim out…I feel the weight of my waterlogged coat pulling down, down…I can almost feel the first touch of the squid lurking somewhere in the depths just waiting…

I kick and kick but there's nothing. I seem to have been kicking for hours. Slower and slower.

I'm so cold.

There is a second splash behind me. A hand grabs my collar. Arms come around me.

'Stop. Fucking. Kicking.'

The voice sounds near and deep in my ear as the arm holds on, a hand reaches down to my leg. Then the arm around me lets go…

'No!' I yell, and the voice returns to my ear.

'You're caught, I have to let go of you to cut it, try and keep afloat.'

Time slides on again in a horrible mass of cold and choking. I can hear swearing. 

Suddenly the tension holding my leg stops, the arms return and I am pulled to shore. I'm still swallowing water, barely able to breathe.

We hit the bank; cold hands pull me up onto the grass.

'L..l..lumos.' He sounds frozen.

He…it's Draco.

'Dra…?' I shouldn't call him that, because I only call him that when…but I'm cold and I can't think and I want him to be real.

'Ron?' He leans over me where I lie, barely out of the Lake. I can see how his body shivers in the wind and the rain, because he's taken off his coat and jumper so they wouldn't weigh him down. His torso shakes beneath a transparent shirt that clings and freezes him. 

'Ron?' His voice has an edge to it, but one I've never heard, desperate and scared. He's got his hands on my shoulders and he gives me a shake, then pulls me up and hugs me to him so we're shivering close and together, his hand on my hair.

'Dra' I'm cold, so cold, it's starting to feel warm and sleepy. I burrow my face into his neck and hold on tight to him, trying to keep him close, keep him there, I need him, I need him more than air. 'How…?'

'I f..followed you. I always do. I can't leave y..you alone, Ron. Why did you have to fall into the fucking lake? You w..weren't supposed to see me.' He sounds like he's babbling, like he's talking to a baby. He keeps stroking his hands over and over my hair.

'Dra…' I smile into his neck. It's all lovely and warm now, all perfect, all exactly right. I can feel the sleepiness taking me over. I move my head and try to talk, but the warmth is too much and I can feel myself start to drift away.

'Ron! You're not falling asleep; you're too cold. If you fall asleep…Ron!'

I shake my head…it's too warm…too nice.

He's starting to sound really scared now: 'Ron! Stay with me! I'm going to get you inside.'

He gets his coat and wraps it around me, gently. Then he tries to pull me to my feet and eventually, with one arm around him, we start walking back to Hogwarts. I'm tired, so very tired. I stumble a few times, and finally I collapse once more onto the ground.

'You can't do this to me, Ron!' He shakes me again, but I feel like a puppet in his hands and I barely respond.

And so he places a hand on each side of my head and kisses me. Deeply, passionately…lovingly.

Somewhere inside me some spark ignites and I begin to remember what life felt like, what staying alive felt like.

He draws back and rests his forehead against mine. I feel his warm breath on my lips.

'Ron, you have to trust me. Just walk with me. Just walk a little more. Please.'

I get up once more. Together we walk on. He keeps his hand in mine all the way.

~~~~~~~~~~

'They should really just give us this bed,' he says, 'One or other of us is always in it.'

I blink and smile up at him from my prone position in what was only recently his bed in the Infirmary.

Then everything comes back in a whirl and I feel a sudden rush of despair. Last night is just going to make this so much more difficult, and yet…I remember the things he said, and what he did…

I feel a rush of heat that has nothing to do with the hot water bottles Pomfrey has laden me with.

He must be able to see from my face that I remember, but he doesn't turn to leave.

'Ron, last week…'

'It's fine, Draco, you don't have to go over it again.' I want him so much it almost hurts me. I want him with more than lust or even love. I like him. Of all the crazy things in this relationship it has to be the worst that it's taken me this long to know that I like him. That's why even though he won't stay he'll never quite leave me.

That's why it'll never quite stop hurting.

'No, Ron, please, I have to say this.' He twitches his fingers into his robes. 'Last week, everything I said then, it was right. This is…this was, crazy and insane. But since then I've missed you.' He looks up at me, vulnerable and afraid and so unlike himself and yet so absolutely perfectly him. 

'I missed you so much that I followed you, just to look, just to be able to look at you again. I didn't know how much you meant to me. I didn't know how much you changed me.' His voice is sweet with longing and gentleness. 'I'm not good at relationships, Ron, I never had a chance to learn, but…' He swallows and looks up at me. 'But I know I want this.' 

I breathe heavily. My eyes and his are trapped together and suddenly I remember how * hot * this was, how searingly amazingly hot and addictive. How easily I could just reach out and have him begging me to…

But he hasn't said that yet. He's still talking.

'I know I'm, well, me…I know I can be a bastard and it's how I like myself. I don't want to be another sycophantic sheep toeing the line.' There's anger in his voice and maybe a little hate, still.

Oh yes, Draco, I know you can be a bastard. 

He kneels down by my bed. 'But I don't want to hurt you, ever, and I realised that if you knew that, if you could trust that that was true and still accept the rest of me then maybe leaving you would be the most stupid thing I could possibly do.'

'You're the one that said it.' I try for humour, but I'm still tense.

'Frankly,' he continues, 'if anyone screws this up it'll be me, and I probably will. But I want the chance to try not to. I'm not going to pre-empt it. When I saw you falling, the way I felt, it was like…'

'Like you had a tie to me fixed in your stomach and someone yanked it?'

He smiles and nods in surprise. 'I trust this now, Ron. I trust us to take our best shot at it. So, would it be OK if…?'

'ShutupDraco.' 

I have no idea if he could hear the actual words, but he obeyed the command. Well, I kind of effectively stopped him talking, what with passionately kissing him and the general distraction as I made sure he could never ever bear to leave again.

He isn't perfect, neither am I. Maybe that's why we're perfect for each other.

__

~Finis~


End file.
